ink fades (and whiteout stains)
Leon wasn’t sure which scars worried him the most.
It would have been simple to say the one beneath Sora’s heart, the large, jagged area a reminder of the lengths Sora would go for his friends. At times, he caught sight of Sora thumbing it over, the boy pushing the tip of his nail in, quietly remarking, “I can’t feel much here anymore.”
It would have been easy to say the four that marred Sora’s back; the skin discolored in a way that only those who pressed a kiss to it could tell. At times, he overheard Sora tossing and turning between his sheets, whispering, and whimpering, “I wish it wasn’t so empty.”
There were several of notable remark—the ring around Sora’s ankle, the impressions on Sora’s wrist that never seemed to fade, the thin X carved in between the prior four—all which Leon caressed with care, not wanting to agitate the age-old tears.
Sora insisted that he was fine, that scars only hurt for so long and that Leon was worried over nothing—"You’ve died before, Sora,” and the boy only answered with a chaste kiss to the scar across his face—and that any lingering aches went as fast as they came.
“Besides,” Sora said as Leon thumbed the scars over and over again, “Isn’t it nice to have stories on my skin?”
It was then that Leon realized, as Sora readied the water, steam rising from the tub, that the marks that he truly feared, the ones that left him holding onto the boy for dear life in hopes that no further harm would come his way—
—were the small scars, their trails no larger than a blade of grass and easily erased with a dab of a potion or a dose of curaga.
The water lapped at the edges of the tub as Sora moved around, complaining, “It’s cold!” as Leon rinsed his hair.
“Is it really?” he asked as he massaged Sora’s scalp, the boy sighing and leaning back against him, skin flushed from the heat. Droplets fell from his hair and rolled down his back, Leon watching as they crossed over the faded scars.
“Yeah, it really is,” Sora said as he turned around and crossed his arms on Leon’s chest, a smile on his face, “We should probably stay close.”
Leon rolled his eyes but moved them so that Sora could lie across his chest, submerging himself enough so that the water kept the other covered. Sora adjusted his arms, no longer having to peer up at him.
“Hi.”
“...hey.”
Sora lifted his legs out of the water, swinging them lightly. “Sometimes, I miss being a mermaid. It was pretty fun.” Sora closed his eyes and hummed, reminiscing. “Did you know fish like to sing? Or, at least the ones Ariel knows.”
Leon cupped his hands and brought them over Sora’s head, rinsing out the lingering soap.
“They like to sing a lot in Simba’s world, too,” Sora continued, tilting his head when Leon gently moved him, combing his fingers through wet strands and ridding them of suds, “It’s nice.”
“Hm,” Leon reached for the washcloth, lathering it and laying it gently on Sora’s back. The boy relaxed against him as Leon passed over the scars, each bearing a weight that could drown Sora if left unchecked.
Isn’t it nice to have stories on my skin?
Leon squeezed the excess water from the cloth as he brushed aside the hair at the base of Sora’s neck, running his thumb over the exposed nape as he examined the skin.
“...Sora.”
Sleep had begun to wash over the boy, his eyes drooping. “Hm?”
“...Did Donald heal you today?”
Sora began to nod, but a yawn cut him off. He raised his head and let his arms sink deeper into the water and around Leon, his legs straddling the man loosely. Leon pressed the warm washcloth to Sora’s nape, feeling the boy relax further into him.
“Sora.”
“Hm?”
Donald wouldn’t have missed a spot.
Leon set aside the cloth and smoothed the hair down over Sora's nape, the healing, pink—fresh, new—scar hidden once more. “Nothing,” he murmured as he wrapped his arms around Sora, rocking him. “Just a smudge.”
“Leon?”
“Hm?”
He felt Sora turn his head, ear flat on his chest. “Could you… keep talking? It sounds nice.”
“I probably don’t have much to say… nothing like your stories.”
“That’s fine,” Sora’s voice trailed off, “Those are some of the best….”
He hummed, the water still warm. He rubbed Sora’s back, tracing the scars he knew, all while wondering about the ones that had long vanished, ones that Sora had probably forgotten as well.
Leon sighed once he felt Sora’s breathing even out, the boy’s heart fluttering softly against his chest.
“Sora,” he said quietly, frustration on his lips from how little he knew, from how little the boy shared and wrote off as nothing important, “Just how many stories have you erased?”